Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
by obedientlittlevictor
Summary: If they were Bonnie and Clyde, then he would be the detective to bring them down. AU.
1. Chapter 1

They meet by chance, but let the record show that _she _was there first. He showed up and interrupted her perfect little bank robbery with his own shoddy attempt. Of all of the banks in the greater city of Los Angeles, he just had to storm into the one that she was holding up.

She rolls alone, and that is for good reason. All she needs is a decent getaway driver, and those are a dime a dozen. Partners just aren't her style. She has to give him credit, though, he did play nicely with her hostages just like she would.

"This is a robbery," he had shouted, rifle raised, as he busted through the glass doors of the bank he had scoped out for weeks before deciding it was the perfect place to rob. He nearly tripped over his feet at the sight of the room. Everyone was on their stomachs, hands on their heads, scattered across the floor of the bank.

Some asshat in the back of the room wisecracked, "No shit, man!"

"This _is_ a robbery, and this is _my_ robbery!" She spat out at him, eyes and gun never leaving the young bank teller shoving wads of cash into a nondescript black duffle bag.

He lowered his gun, completely and thoroughly dumbfounded, and that was his mistake, because all of a sudden she had a second pistol trained on him, arms held at a 90 degree angle. He had no doubt that she could shoot him dead without even looking.

"Well, this is awkward," he chuckled as if he was in on the biggest joke that the universe had to offer. "I'll just see myself out now."

"Move and I put a bullet through your brain," she answered firmly. She sounded like she has been doing this for a long time. Hell, she probably had, given her professional attire: the black ski mask over black pantyhose that hid her face and eyes, the baggy jumpsuit that couldn't point to any particular body type, platformed boots that would offset any estimations of her true height, black latex gloves, and two guns that were no doubt illegally obtained and untraceable.

He decided that he liked her.

"Should I call of my getaway driver or keep him waiting in the parking lot?"

She shrugged her shoulders and motioned with her gun for the teller to move more quickly. "Who says I won't just shoot you for the fun of it?"

He laughed again, more in the few minutes of this failed bank robbery than he had in the past month. Something about her calm demeanor and almost bored tone made him want to stick around to find out more about her. Images of a Bonnie-and-Clyde-esque partnership galloped through his mind.

"Who would watch your hostages for you if I left, Bonnie?"

"Well, _Clyde_," she emphasized, clearly catching on to the joke, "I can do that myself, thank you."

"I have no doubt that you can handle yourself during an armed robbery, but my gun is bigger," he countered smoothly. His own black ski mask covered his smirk, but she could hear it in his voice.

"Ah, so you're one of those who thinks size matters?"

She turned to face him, and true to his word, he was holding his assault rifle against the hostages and not at her. She lowered the gun that was pointed at him and grabbed the duffle bag from the teller, who instantly threw her hands in the air in the hope that she won't get shot.

"Size matters," he affirmed.

"Size doesn't matter so much as how well you can use it," she countered and shouldered the bag. She sauntered over to him and paused slightly angled to the side so that he could still see all of the hostages, sizing him up. "How much of a cut is your driver expecting?"

"Ten percent. Yours?"

"Shit. Mine wants twenty," she laughed and tucked her second gun onto the wide artillery belt of her jumpsuit. On an impulse, she brushed her hand along his bicep and was thrilled to find the bunched muscles steady under her fingers.

"My guy wouldn't drive off without me," he remarked in a teasing voice.

She cocked her head and seemed to ponder his words. It was as if she had all of the time in the world, the way that she leisurely rolled her thoughts around.

"And how much would it set me back if you rode along?"

He nodded as if he was deep in thought. "Let's see how much you made off with, and we can figure it out on the way."

"Deal."

She let off a single shot into the wall ahead of them just to scare the hostages and they both walked out of the bank and into the back seat of the unmarked SUV next to the front door.

"Who the fuck is this?" The masked driver stared incredulously at her and she just wiggled her fingers in a wave.

"Just drive, Sam," he ordered, and they sped off onto the back roads of the city. He pulled off his mask and gestured for her to do the same.

She lifted her ski mask and the black pantyhose from her face in one swoop and brushed back the sweaty, messy tendrils of her dark hair from her face. He inconspicuously swallowed a gulp of air and gave her a thousand watt smile. There was no denying that she's gorgeous, clearly dangerous, and armed to the teeth. Just his type.

"Callen," he said by way of introduction and held out his hand to her.

"Kensi," she returned smoothly and took it.

They locked eyes as they shook hands, and it suddenly felt a lot like a solid new partnership.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Title is Drumming Song by Florence + the Machine. As you can see, this one is wildly AU. Enjoy the ride!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The first time they intentionally rob a bank together, Callen decides that he can't sleep with Kensi. There's nothing wrong with her, and a lot of things right with her, but he knows that finding a partner like her is once in a lifetime. Therefore, he cannot ruin it by fucking the first woman who he actually trusts to be by his side during a robbery.

Given, Kensi carries a whole armory on her person, Callen learned after their first accidental bank robbery together. The two pistols she had held were nothing compared to the collection of knives in secret compartments on her jumpsuit. Still, Callen is in awe of her skills of persuasion. A room full of hysterical hostages does good for exactly no one.

It's the second time they rob bank together that Kensi tries to kiss him. Sam pulls their getaway van into a parking garage at some office and they hop out, already changed into gym clothes, seemingly normal that they would need their black duffle bags, packed to the brim with wads of hundreds and a few bars of gold.

Callen and Kensi conduct the sweep of the van, making sure all stray fingerprints and fibers are eliminated, while Sam goes in search of a new car. He already has an extra license plate so that tracing the stolen vehicle is even more difficult. They are nothing if not thorough.

Callen is leaning over the driver's seat, wiping down the steering wheel when Kensi grabs his arm and flips him on his back. She wastes no time in straddling him and attacking his mouth with hers. He gives in for just the briefest of seconds before gently guiding her off.

Kensi's dark eyes flash a range of emotions: anger, confusion, more anger, something almost akin to sadness at the rejection. No wonder she keeps her eyes hidden under the black pantyhose of her bank robbery getup. Not only are her eyes easily identifiable, but they express every feeling and every thought going through her mind. Not exactly something you would want the person you are robbing to have access to.

"What the fuck?" Kensi blurts out, hands on her hips and eyes flashing dangerously.

"You know just as well as me what feelings do to people like us," Callen states calmly. He breathes a silent sigh of relief when he sees Kensi relax. "You know that getting involved with your partner is dangerous for more than one reason, don't you, Kensi?"

His pointed look at her left ring finger causes Kensi to break eye contact. He doesn't know the story behind the ring. All he knows is that her fiancé is not in Kensi's life anymore, and even that is more of a guess than a truth. Kensi scrubs the rest of the dashboard with her cleaning wipes with more force than necessary.

"His name was Jack," she blurts out, her back to Callen. She isn't entirely sure why she is telling Callen, her partner in bank robbery and nothing more, such an intimate detail of her life. But she started, so she might as well finish. "Petty theft was more his thing. We robbed a few grocery stores back home together. Got off on the thrill of it all.

"He wanted to get straight, so he joined the Marines. Proposed to me after Basic Training, before he was deployed. Came home, blew his brains out. The end. He didn't know I kept up the trade, but you know, gotta pay the bills."

Callen finishes cleaning the backseat, silent and deep in thought at this new tidbit of information on Kensi. He doesn't know much about her, besides the fact that she has a steady shot and authority when she takes an assignment, whether it is for a bank robbery or the coffee shop for a latte; she commands a room. That's really all he knows about her. Hell, he doesn't even know her last name, or if she's even using her real name.

They meet around the back of the van and lean against the doors, waiting for Sam to drive up. Their silence is surprisingly not uncomfortable.

"I'm not Jack, Kens," Callen says pensively.

"No. You're not," Kensi agrees with a mirthless chuckle.

By the fourth bank robbery, the trio have established a system, an MO. Sam is the best when it comes to research and planning. He has an inside guy who can get him blueprints of all of the banks in the city, and he knows how to scope out the best ones for the best time with the most profit.

Kensi runs in first with the big guns blazing, always aiming for the walls above her hostages' heads. She has no illusions about invincibility, so she'd rather not have murder charges over all of the armed robberies. Sometimes she laughs about this. What does it matter anyway?

Callen files in shortly after, duffle bags in hand, ready to fill them up. His trust of Kensi has only served to grow since their first encounter. He carries his own gun, of course, but he lets Kensi take point on holding their hostages still and not calling the cops. Admittedly, she does an extraordinary job.

Callen isn't entirely sure what Kensi does when she isn't robbing banks. He and Sam had been best friends since long before they aged out of foster care at 18. They both keep their cards close to the vest, but they can read each other enough to communicate without words. Somehow, in all of their shenanigans, they'd only been arrested a handful of times, and only for minor incidents.

Sam has a daughter named Kamran, Callen knows that, with a woman named Michelle, someone who runs in even deeper circles of crime, worse than armed robbery. Callen never asks questions, and they never divulge details, but his little nondescript place in a decent neighborhood has been used as a safehouse a few times, when Sam comes barging in, carrying a bloody and cursing Michelle to deposit on Callen's kitchen table for emergency surgery. Callen has become quite the expert at quickly and efficiently extracting bullets and stitching skin back together.

Their daughter stays with Michelle's mother most of the time, but sometimes Sam brings her to Callen's house to color on the walls, since she can't do that at home. Callen doesn't care that his formerly blank white walls are now covered in crayon scribbles. He almost likes the idea of a family.

He wonders if Kensi has any sort of family. He's seen her strip down to her underwear after jobs to change clothes, and he may have let his eyes roam a few times. Her body doesn't look like she's ever carried a child, but he doesn't have that much experience with pregnant women. For all he knows, she has a dozen.

During their sixth robbery together, they kill a hostage for the first time.

Some self-righteous LA transplant from the Midwest, judging by his shitty hick accent, gets all hot and bothered about being told what to do by a woman. It doesn't seem to matter than Kensi is committing a robbery with a gun, she is _just__ another dumb fucking bitch who thinks she can tell him what to do_.

Callen's heart pounds and he imagines Kensi's eyes going cold, a thousand times worse than anything he's ever been on the receiving end of. Kensi is a decent person, no matter what her favored crime of armed robbery may suggest. But all people have limits on how much degradation and bullshit they can put up with.

A perfect, clean shot between the eyes and through the brain shuts the Midwesterner up.

Callen thinks back to the moment that he heard the single shot go off, the gasps that overcame the room and seemed to echo forever. He thinks of the moment, and realizes Kensi was no closer than 20 yards away, clear at the other end of the bank.

On the afternoon after their sixth robbery, Callen gets a call on his personal phone, the number that he most definitely did not give to Kensi, from a number he doesn't recognize. He doesn't use this phone for business purposes, so he figures he could just let it go to voicemail.

At the last second, he answers it, putting on his Russian accent this time. He's always had fun learning languages, and early on he found that Eastern European languages were quite his forte. "Da?"

"Clyde," Kensi greets.

"Bonnie," Callen recovers smoothly enough, even though he grabs his gun from the hidden shelf under his coffee table and does a quick sweep of his front yard.

"Do you have a television?"

Callen continues around his house, checking the windows to see if anyone could possibly have followed him home without him knowing. "I do not."

"Then you should meet me at that little Mexican place on Central," Kensi concludes cryptically, then promptly hangs up.

Callen immediately flips to Sam's personal number and hits Call. He doesn't wait for Sam to say anything before he starts, "Did you give Kensi this number?"

Sam lets out a deep belly laugh. "Man, I don't think I've even said twenty words to her throughout this entire coalition we have going on. She got your number?"

"Yeah," Callen grabs his wallet and keys before heading out the door. He doesn't bother locking his front door; he never does. If someone breaks in, they can go ahead and steal both tables and the mattress that his entire house consists of.

"She's just showing off," Sam continues distractedly. He's probably with his kid. "Kensi wants you to know that she knows everything."

"That's the problem, Sam," Callen declares. "I think she does know everything. Any idea why she wants to meet?"

"Probably has something to do with the fresh bounty that LAPD put on our heads."


End file.
